


Shattered

by atlas (cissysullivan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissysullivan/pseuds/atlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes Sam's body to the abandoned house after AHBL Pt.2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

Dean wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, Sam’s limp body in his arms. He’d buried his face in the hollow of Sam’s neck, curled his fingers in his brother’s hair, and allowed his tears to stain the shoulder of Sam’s shirt. He tried not to cry. Honestly, he did. But only a few moments after he realized that Sam was gone and he wasn’t coming back, he was sobbing. He was clutching at his brother and he was sobbing.

            “No,” he gasped out over and over again. “No, no, no, no, please…please…no…” But it didn’t matter. His pleas weren’t heard, his prayers that this was all a bad dream weren’t answered. This was happening. This was real. This was all too real and the worst part was this was all his fault. If he’d gone into the sandwich shop with Sam, then maybe Sam wouldn’t have been taken. If he’d gone into the sandwich shop with Sam, then maybe he could have fought off whoever dared to mess with his little brother and everything would have been fine.

            But he hadn’t.

            He’d thought Sam would be fine.

            He’d thought everything would be okay.

            And now look what had happened. Sam was dead. He was _dead._ He was _gone._ And he _wasn’t_ coming back.

            When Bobby returned after trying to run down the man who had stabbed his brother in the back, eased his brother’s passing, Dean was still holding Sam against him, sobbing into his neck, begging for this to only be a nightmare. For a moment, Bobby wasn’t sure what to do. He knew that the relationship the boys had was far from just brotherly and he also knew that they both meant more to one another than the other could ever possibly imagine. Seeing Dean so broken down like this tore at his own heartstrings and he wondered for a moment if he’d ever loved Karen as desperately as Dean loved Sam.

            It took him a moment to get the image of Karen lying dead in his arms out of his mind, but once he had, Bobby moved to help Dean to his feet. He gripped his underarm and tried to pull him up, but Dean shouted, “Go away! Please! Just leave me! Let me die, too! Please! I can’t –” He broke off, his words becoming unintelligible as sobs wracked his sturdy frame that suddenly seemed so breakable.

            “Come on, boy,” Bobby said, gently. “We have to get him out of this place.”

            No response.

            “We have to get him home.”

            That made Dean stand, his arms still curled around Sam. He staggered under his brother’s weight, only increasing Bobby’s thoughts that Dean was on the verge of collapse and why wouldn’t he be? His entire world was lying limp in his arms. His entire world was _gone._ Still, Dean carried his world to the Impala and lay him gently down in the backseat as though he were sleeping, not dead. Bobby offered to drive and Dean didn’t protest. He sat with his brother’s head on his lap and wiped the blood that had been trickling out of his mouth just before he died from his lips. He carded his fingers through Sam’s hair, kissing the top of his head over and over again, his tears drenching his brother’s locks that had always been so much longer than his own.

            Instead of driving to a motel, Bobby found an abandoned house and near the abandoned town and pulled up into the driveway. He offered to help Dean carry Sam inside, but Dean only shook his head. He would do it. He had always done it. And it seemed only right he should continue doing it, even now that his brother was gone.

            The house had only one floor and one bedroom and one bed. There were no blankets or pillows on the bed, but that didn’t really matter anymore. He carried his brother into that room, Sam’s blood creating a trail for anyone who entered to follow, and lay him down on the dirty mattress. He kissed Sam’s forehead, whispering, “Goodnight, Sammy,” before he placed his brother’s hands on his chest. That was how Sam slept, with his hands on his chest and staring at him from the doorway to that room, Dean could almost imagine, almost believe his brother was only sleeping and he was waiting, patiently, for him to wake up. 


End file.
